


Infinite

by Needs_More_Lesbians



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/F, its real great, laura goes super sayan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needs_More_Lesbians/pseuds/Needs_More_Lesbians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your name is Laura Hollis, and you have always broken beautiful things."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of 'what if' scenario following the finale of season two in which the Charter is not found in time, and alternate plans have to be made.
> 
> ((A little angst to tide you over during this hiatus!))

Your name is Laura Hollis and you have always broken beautiful things.

You started when you were eight, back when a mother's embrace still meant safety, a childhood home still seemed permanent, and "I'll be back in five minutes, honey" was still something you could believe in. You'd held onto the childlike belief that mama didn't lie, an illusion that shattered like the windshield of the green Subaru you watched pull out of the driveway.

You'd been timing the five minutes ever since.

Next was Danny, who never asked for nor expected a thank you. A warrior by nature and a protector by choice, whose hair resembled autumn and embrace smelled like something you could live in. Always there to save you from yourself regardless if she agreed with you or not, proving her loyalty over and over again to you.

Dying to prove it one last time.

You can still catch yourself looking over your shoulder for her. You can still remember her last words.

You can still remember how she wasn't looking at you when she said them.

The way she always does when she lies.

And now, just to make sure that your mistakes were caught forever in the foreground of your mind, he had taken Carmilla away from you

She looks younger than you've ever seen her before, younger, you realize, than you will ever see her again. Her arms are still bound together at the wrists in a shameful attempt to hold back the fury and the nobility and the overwhelmingness of who she was. Her hair is dark and long and spills over your knees and your hands and her face.

Her face that was so peaceful despite the blood flowing in rivulets down her throat.

The moment is still replaying itself in flashes and you have a harrowing feeling that it's always going to be. The sword first, glinting in the grip of the Baron like something alive. Carmilla' face next, eyes closed, expression defiantly fearless. Your own arm, flung out in a childish attempt to block the blade, now hearing a deep gash-the only reward for your efforts being that you would bleed with her. Your own voice, screaming her name like she was ever going to be able to listen.

She'd fallen so beautifully that your breath stopped. A sideways plummet with her hair falling out of the tie, seeming to take ages and yet going gracefully until she hit the ground with a thud.

You think you might have heard her laugh once.

And now here, motionless, the stillness of death finally winning over the restlessness of her body.

Three hundred years at least, and Carmilla Karnstein is truly dead.

You hear a voice, wavering and frightened, and you look up to see Lafontaine appearing as scared and helpless as you feel. The Baron has long since exited in a blaze of triumph-only you, Perry and Lafontaine remain in the room.

And Carmilla.

“Laura?” Lafontaine tries again. “Laura, is she-”

“Yes.” You don’t want to hear them say it. There’s a spot in your chest near your right lung that feels like it’s gone, like it’s been gone for a very long time, but still cries out for her to stir and smile lazily and slow like she does when she wakes up and sees you looking at her.

Instead, she is heavy in your arms and her blood is covering your hands.

“...Oh, frosh.” Lafontaine says, and though they never got along famously with her, didn’t even really think of her as a friend until a few months ago, you can still hear their heart breaking for you. “Oh, Jesus, Laura…”

“Don’t.” you say, and your voice breaks with the weight of the girl in your arms who was centuries old and only eighteen and always waited for you to kiss back and fell to the ground alone and scared and thinking you would never be able to bring yourself to love her. “Don’t.”

For a moment, you waver on the edge between breaking and winning, and it would be so easy to lose yourself in the hollow in your chest that is frightens you, how easy you could give up, how simple it would be.

You lower your forehead to Carmillas’.

She does not move.

You touch a forefinger to her cheek, cold and pale.

She does not move. She might have been sleeping.

You look at her, your insufferable roommate, your would-be constant.

You look at her and you decide to win.

“Perry.” you say, and you will your voice to be steady. “Lafontaine. You said the fish...He had a parasite in your brain, right?”

They look at you like they’re not sure what you’re getting at and they’re not sure if they want to know, but nod once. “Yeah. It’s still there. I can tell.”

“Then…” You swallow, hard, ignoring the way your throat wants to close. You can smell Carmilla’s hair. “Then you know where to find it?”

They catch on. “Laura, you can’t-”

“Take me there.” your voice is low and sharp and Carmilla is still heavy in your arms and Danny’s blood has stained your shirt.

And you are not going to lose this time.

“Do you not remember what she said?” Lafontaine whispers. “It’s going to kill you.”

You tell the truth. “I don’t care.”

Lafontaine looks at you so hard you have to look away. “I do.” they say.

You still can’t look at them. “There isn’t another way. No other way. The board...The charter...He has that, all of it. Killing him is impossible unless I do this.”

You smooth some of Carmilla’s hair back, tangled and sweaty, and your heart hurts so badly that you think you might have died along with her.

“Let me do it.” Lafontaine urges. “It’s already connected to me, maybe that-”

“No.” You nearly shout it, and you look straight at them. “No. I’m not losing you like that. You...You have things to do. Things to discover.” You try smiling. “Stuff to experiment on...And I did this. All of this, so it’s my job to clear it up.”

“No one said-”

“Laf.” You can’t smile, so you just look at them and hope it will be enough. “Please.”

“...We need to go quickly.” Lafontaine says, and you pretend you can’t see the tears in their eyes. “Before he hurts anyone else.”

“He won’t.” you say.

Yo focus on one thing at a time, because otherwise you’ll shrink away from this plan like a coward. You press your lips to Carmilla’s forehead. Stand. Walk to the bookshelf. Take a battered copy of Beowulf from the section where she kept her favorites. Lay it on her chest. Fold her hands over it.

Neither Lafontaine nor Perry say anything. You know full well that if the blood might have killed someone as ancient and terrible as Mattie, you didn’t stand a chance.

You find you’re too tired to care much.

“He won’t.” You repeat in a whisper, looking at Carmilla’s blank face. “He won’t, because I’m not going to let him.”

Your name is Laura Hollis, and you always mean what you say.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Your name is Carmilla Karnstein, and currently, everything hurts like a bitch.

The pain in the back of your neck is the most noticeable, throbbing and raw like it had been sliced clean through-

-Which, you realize as a shock makes your limbs tremble, is what happened, isn’t it? The Baron of Lies had enacted his revenge wholly and completely, driving the sword down with enough force to separate your head from your shoulders had Laura not-

Laura.

With a shuddering gasp you move to rise, only to have a firm pair of hands hold you down.

“Lie still, you idiot girl! Foolish bloody child...I don’t know what in the name of the seven gates she thinks she’s going to win, but she’s throwing away far more than she seems to think, the selfish little wench…”

You frown, recognizing the mumbling. Though your vision hasn’t nearly cleared up enough, you can still recognize the voice of Lola Perry. You’d spent enough time with her not to, albeit unwillingly.

“Would you sit still and drink this?!” she snarls, holding a bag to your lips. You smell it before you taste it and your mouth burns, and within seconds you’ve drained the blood bag dry.

You’re not dead. Somehow.

And your hands are gripping a copy of Beowulf.

You toss it aside with only a small amount of confusion as Lola Perry guides you halfway to a sitting position, applies pressure to the back of your neck that makes you cry out involuntarily.

“Hold still, would you?!” she hisses. “I just bandaged that and the bleeding hasn’t stopped!”

“Laura.”

Perry seems exasperated. “Has gone off to drink the blood of the deep one like a self-sacrificing fool, try as I have to dissuade her from-”

You’re so dumbstruck you can’t even take note of the oddly familiar speech pattern. “She’s _what?!”_

“Gone to drink the blood of the deep one.” Perry repeats simply.

You look at her, incomprehending.

That fool.

That courageous, idiotic and headstrong _fool._

Flickers come back to you, one after the other. The sword. Laura’s cry of _“No!!”_ The book you’d been holding like some sort of funeral arrangement.

You turn to Perry.

“Get these chains off of me.”

Perry blinks.

“She thinks I’m dead and if you don’t unshackle me right this second, neither hell nor heaven will hold a flame to the rage I am going to demonstrate to you, do you understand ,me?”

And Perry laughs. A high, cold sound that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end and sends a chill through you because _where had you heard that before?_

The situation doesn’t get any simpler when she lays a hand over your wrists and the chains break.

You look at her, speechless.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

She smiles. “Do be quick about it, dear. There isn’t much time left.”

And your heart freezes.

You know who you’re talking to. You know who you’re talking to, and it sure as hell isn’t Lola Perry.

You’re torn for a moment, frozen, and Laura is still out there, alone and scared and needing you, and you always come when Laura needs you.

And so you leave.

For now.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“If I die,” you say, holding the syringe, but Lafontaine interrupts.

“Don’t even think about giving me the heartfelt goodbye thing, Frosh. It was difficult enough to find a vein on this thing as it is, and if you start crying, I’m not far behind.”

That actually makes you chuckle, even with the blood-filled syringe weighing heavy in your right hand. The blood is black, swirling as though alive somehow. When Lafontaine had first pulled the syringe free you had spent a good few seconds just looked at the liquid, the different shapes swirling in it. All the while Lophilformes had slumbered. You could nearly feel the crackle in the air, the sheer raw and primal power of the thing. If it woke up, you both might have fainted from the awe of it.“I’m not going to cry. I’m not.” you repeat at the disbelieving look on their face. “I just...I want you to know that-”

“Laur.” They reach out for your shoulder, and your chest tightens because you’re never going to have a friend like them in your life even if you do survive this. “I just told you. No waterworks. You’re...Doing what you have to do.” They take a breath. “Okay?”

You blink rapidly, but you nod. “Okay.”

Their hand tightens on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Frosh. No matter what happens.”

You offer a shaky smile, place a hand over theirs. “No waterworks, Laf.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It’s easier to run when you’re this form, feline and slinking, so you changed fast as soon as you left your Mother.

It’s always easier to track things in this form, too. Scents are more distinguishable here even though your senses are enhanced even in your typical body, and you can catch the scent of sweat and rubber. The tracks are easy to find, and you quickly discover that Laura is not alone. Someone is with her, and adrenaline has kicked your senses so far into overdrive that you can pick up the scent of hairspray, different chemicals...Lafontaine. Laura had taken the Good Doctor with her.

The injury has slowed you down remarkably, so what used to only take you a five minutes now takes ten, but you follow the track down until the earthy ground beneath your feet turns to wood as you enter the Lustig building, and then to rock as you enter the cavern. You spur yourself onward, ignoring the blood matting your fur from a few unwelcome obstacles on the way. Your claws dig into the rock as you break into a run, attempting to gather traction on the slippery rockface.

 _Goddamned caves,_ you think to yourself.

The scent of limestone grows thicker, and with it is something else. Something ancient. Something alive.

A low growl rumbles in your chest as you slow into a walk, padding down the cavern with your hackles raised. It feels incredibly wrong in here, as though it were housing something that should never have belonged in such a place.

 _Godzilla in a living room,_ you think, and chuckle inwardly.

You feel the itch as you change back, starting at your shoulders and spreading down your shrinking limbs. It used to be unbearable, but it’s little more than a minor inconvenience now after centuries. Within a few seconds you’re on two legs again, one hand bracing yourself against the wall.

You’ve been here before. The ancient drawings and runes are indents traced by your fingers. Mattie had called them the earliest form of expression.

The loss of her stabs you for a moment before you brush it off. There’s not time for it anymore.

The cavern only leads one way, narrowing at one point so much so that you have to walk sideways. A bit of jagged rock scratches at the back of your neck and your hand closes reflexively on the wall in front of you and you have to stop a moment, squeeze your eyes shut, steady yourself.

And then you push on.

The cavern finally opens up, and does so dramatically, the narrow bit cutting off into a cavern large enough to house the entirety of the Silas students. In the center is the Deep One, the light no longer sparkles, but there is a light ahead, small and concentrated like a flashlight-

And holding it-

You see her before she sees you, a glass syringe held in one hand near her lips, and it’s only inches away from her mouth, illuminated by the flashlight Lafontaine is holding-

And you call out.

“LAURA!!”

The syringe is in her mouth, head tilted back, and you’re too late for it now, even as she jerks it back at the sound of your voice-

“LAURA, _NO!”_

Her eyes meet yours and her lips are stained black and you watch as they form your name and a tear runs down her cheek-

And then she collapses.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You are no longer Laura Hollis.

You breathe in magma from the infinite space between stars, so cold it burns, and you know all, and you are all, and it has always been thus.

There are specks before you.

You cannot see them, but you don't need to because you are them. You feel their pain and their fear and it becomes you, and the crushing sorrow of one breathes into you like mist. You hold these things to you a moment and release them with an outward breath, to rejoin the cycle of things.

They call you a name-not yours, but familiar. A name that stirs something you used to know. A feeling tears through you without warning, a feeling like the beginning and ending of all things living and death

Life and Death are the same exact thing. It's so clear to you now.

The speck of sorrow speaks again. "Laura?"

The name stirs recognition once again, like a dance of wind, within yourself and the other human. You do not deny or fear this recognition. Merely observe it, accept the resonance of the presence of Laura that was left behind. Laura, who was you, and was no longer you.

You speak with the voice of infinity.

"No longer I."

The woman before you breathes inward, and you taste her grief.

She resonates within you, more so than the other beside her. She is known to you. Something stirs at the sight of her:

You hear a thud and recognize that she has dropped to her knees before you. There is water pouring down her face.

There is water on your face, as well.

For a split second, you are her sadness and her overwhelming guilt and her certainty that she has lost yet again. You feel a part of her reaching for who you were mere seconds ago, and there is something in you reaching back.

The aching of the girl called Laura Hollis is growing in you and all you want for a moment is for this girl in front of you to know that you know her.

But you do not.

And yet...

She speaks again in a whispering sob. "Laura." She says. "Laura, Laura, no..."

You are in limbo. You are not seeing her and yet you know she is there, you have never been more aware of everything within her. So much information is coming at you at once assaulting your sense over and over, and you know the definition for the absence of existence, and you know the structure of dark matter, and you are ancient, and you are infinite, and you are crying and you want Carm to hold you.

A flicker.

And Laura speaks.

"Two hundred...And seventy point four...point six two, repeating.."

Your brain is burning, your skull yearning to explode outward, and you are everything and nothing and there is no difference between the two things.

Your name.

Your name is...

Your hands grip your hair and you scream.

"MAKE IT _STOP!!!!"_

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight enough that it hurts as you cling to any sense of individuality by your fingernails, but it keeps going behind your closed eyelids because the universe does not stop, and you can feel the cells in your body dividing and the molecules of electricity vibrating in the flashlight and you can't take this, you can't take this, _you can't take this-_

 

And you smell night air and soil just after rain and Carmilla- _her name, that’s her name how could you forget that_ -is holding you.

You’re shaking violently and your head has never hurt like this before and our hands grip into her jacket because she was dead, she was dead, and you’re going to lose what’s left of your sanity if she leaves you again.

You feel a hand gripping your hair and pinning you against her and you still hear her organs working and functioning and her dead lungs expanding and contracting with hysterical breaths she only took out of instinct, and her nose presses into your temple, crushed against you, and she’s whispering that she’s sorry, she’s sorry, she’s never letting go of you again.

It’s still too much, but she’s anchoring you and you can start to remember yourself, can start to gather up the bits of who you were in the spaces between your ribs where they had fallen.

You cling to each other and you’re still shaking and crying but it doesn’t seem so bad now.

A second body joins, a second pair of arms wrapping around you both and you laugh brokenly when you realize it’s Lafontaine, smelling faintly of chemicals and hairspray, and Carmilla, still with one hand clutching your back, lifts her other one to tousle their hair and you feel your heart beating.

And you’re alive.

And your name is Laura Hollis.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
You hold them both to you, these stupid, imbecilic, suicidal humans who had gone through to hell and back and still managed to return, and you’re fully aware you’re crying. The three of you stay like that awhile, Laura crushed yet smiling, before Lafontaine steps back and wipes their nose and Laura still clings to you.

“What in the unnamed hell were you thinking?” You demand in a voice so angry it’s nearly calm.

Laura tenses, as if she can feel your fury like a tangible thing, which she might be able to given the blood now running through her veins. She speaks in a whisper.

“You were dead.” she said, lower lip trembling. “You were _dead-”_

“Indeed,” Comes a voice from behind you. “That you should have been.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You can smell the stench of his decaying breath before he speaks.

Vordenburg.

A name more hateful than you could ever think up, a name that cloys your tongue like poison. You step back from Carmilla, a hand lingering on her cheek before you turn to look in his direction.

Rage starts at the diaphragm, inching upwards like magma as you behold this man, this wretched, crawling, sniveling man who simpers under your gaze, and when you speak, you contain the fury of a thousand students whose’ lives he disregarded, families he has broken, order he has disestablished.

“Fraulein,” he simpers, “Surely you would say-”

 _“Silence.”_ To you it is no more than a whisper, but Lafontaine is covering their ears. You do not walk towards him. You do not need to.

You realize, slowly, that this must have been what Mattie wanted. You can feel it sparking in your fingers like a crack in the air, a fire in snow. All things natural, you understand completely. And when something is understood…

Wordlessly, you reach out.

And the old man bursts into flames.

There is a shriek, half cut off, and then silence as he burns to charcoal, reduced to a corpse half cremated, and you look upon it expressionlessly.

You see no difference.

You watch the corpse burn a while before a shaking hand touched your arm and you breathe Carmilla in again.

She’s scared. You’ve frightened her, and for a moment you can see yourself as she looks at you. A body familiar to her, a face she still catches herself marveling at, but now stony and resilient, unattached to the burning man in front of you. She has watched you take a life and you can feel her trembling as she sees herself in you.

You sense her fear of what you might become.

“No.” you say gently, and you reach out to touch her face. “Not so long as you’re here. And Lafontaine. And Perry.”

You can sense she is still unsure, but she draws close to you, lays her lips against your temple. To the other side of you, Lafontaine has approached, reaches out for your hand.

You sense their intention and smile, opening it to them, and they take it.

Then you sense another intention, and laugh.

“No samples.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend of mine requested more of Carmilla attempting to adjust to Laura being sort of an avatar of ancient wisdom, so I went at it as best I could. A bit of angst at first, followed by some fluff. This ones a lot shorter, but I hope you enjoy!

“I can tell you’re looking at me, Carm.”

She’s not facing you-which, you reason, she probably doesn’t have to anymore. It hits you a little suddenly that you never let yourself appreciate the way she would often snap her head to you whenever you wanted her attention, all wide-eyed and just a little distracted.

It hits you even harder that Laura is never going to look at you again.

You swallow, and answer truthfully. “I can’t tell if it’s you I’m looking at anymore.”

She stops, shoulders raised. You’ve hurt her. You know that part of her still, can see it in the way her right hand curls into a tiny fist.

In the past, maybe even a few weeks ago, you would have stepped forward, reassured her in that charming way you do that you hadn’t meant it, wrapped you arms lightly around her waist and tugged her against you.

Now, you’re hesitant to touch her at all.

“I’m still me.” Laura says, and her voice is close to tears.

“You can’t say that and mean it.” You’re starting to regret every word that comes out of your mouth, but you can’t stop yourself from it. “I saw you kill someone, Laura. And you’ve been quieter than stone ever since we got to the library, except for when you...Mutter to yourself when you think I can’t hear.”

“Carm, would you _please_ -”

“You should have never drank it.” And you’re looking at her now, but when she turns towards you, her eyes clouded and sightless, you wince at the sight of them. “You should never have even thought about it.”

“What else was I supposed to do?!” She demands, and you’re taken aback by how quickly her voice raises to a shout. “You were _dead_! I _watched_ you die, just like I watched Danny die!”

“Mortality is something expected in terms of war, cupcake-”

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ”

Her voice is suddenly everywhere, both within and without, similar to how she had spoken to Vordenburg before, and for a split second you actually think she might hurt you.

Then, she breathes out and you’re ashamed of yourself.

“I only meant-”

“I’m not listening to this anymore.” you say shortly. “Whatever stupid justification you have up your sleeve, I’m not listening to it.”

“Carmilla, that isn’t fair. I’d lost everything, for God’s sake, and besides which, my plan actually worked-”

“At what cost?!” You’re right in front of her in no time. You’ve never really felt further away from her in your life, not at the bottom of that cavern, not with your hand pressed against the floorboards where you could still hear her heart beating just out of reach. “God above, at what cost?!”

“What do you care?!” There are tears welling in her eyes and you pretend you can’t see them. “I took _everything_ from you! The least I can do is try to give it back!!”

You grasp her shoulders. “I don’t want it back, I want you _safe_ you naive, foolish-”

You’re not sure who started it-it might have been either one of you, or maybe both-but quite suddenly, you’re kissing each other.

Laura makes a surprised little sound, as taken aback by the action as you are, but she melts into you, reaches up and buries her hands in your hair, and your hands move from her shoulders to your back, and it’s a raw and fresh thing, how badly the two of you had hurt each other. Her fingers tremble against the back of your neck like a code you no longer had the cipher to.

You can feel the tears on her face when she draws back, takes in a shuddering little breath, kisses you once more. This time, it’s slower like she’s trying to dictate the curve of your lips into her memory, and you tug her closer by the waist and she laughs a little despite everything.

_And there she is_ , you think to yourself. _There’s my Laura._

She draws back slower this time, and you let the tip of your nose brush against hers, and it takes you a moment to realize your eyes are still closed.

“...I can’t do this by myself, Carm.” she whispers. “I can’t.”

You reach up to hold her face, kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her nose-which scrunches at the action like it always does.

“You don’t have to, sweetheart.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More shenanigans with the Dean? More shenanigans with the Dean.

Escaping to the Library had been quite the ordeal, even after the Baron disposed of through his little trial by fire. Laura had caught hold of your hand, and it was only after Lafontaine mentioned something about Perry that you felt your blood turn to ice.

Laura’s hand tightened in yours, and she tilted her head experimentally, as if listening to something. “Carm? Did you...Want to say something?”

You tell her no, and hope she doesn’t notice. Truth be told you want, and need, to break the news eventually, but there is something stopping you from doing so. You realized with mingled shock and horror, that you’ve actually grown to somewhat _like_ the wiser of the two gingers. Though that was holding about the same meaning as liking vomit more than styrofoam, it’s still something you’re unused to. At any rate, the look of disbelief and terror on Lafontaine’s face, which you know will occur if you say anything, keeps you from getting the news over with.

Turns out you don’t need to say anything at all, though, because your Mother meets you halfway.

You’re partially across the cavern, surfacing once again in the Lustig building and there she is like a cliche in a blue dress jacket, waiting in the shadowy corners as she always, always did. You could feel your posture change reflexively, your back straighten in poise because improper is something you have learned not to be around your Mother.

Laf, oblivious, calls out a greeting, which is quickly muffled by Laura’s scream.

Your mother turns her head to the girl next to you. Though blind, Laura is staring fixedly in her direction, her hand gripping yours so tightly that you might have feared for its’ sanctity had you lacked vampiric constitution. Her face is pale, expression horrified.

You figure you would be, too, if you were peering into your Mother’s essence.

“Run.” you say, tugging Laura’s hand. She remains motionless. To your right, Lafontaine appears a little confused.

“Laura? Carmilla? What are you-”

“Oh, this is just _quaint._ ” Your Mother, always one for dramatics, is looking Lafontaine up and down like a tigress eyeing a particularly amusing hunk of steak, stretching Perry’s features into an uncharacteristically menacing grin. “I actually had some faith in you, good Doctor. So keen to riddle everything out, but you still couldn’t solve this one?”

Lafontaine looks more confused than ever, but you only half pay attention because you’re still trying to tug Laura away. She seems rooted to the spot, staring blindly at Perry’s figure, whispering the word ‘no’ under her breath rapidly.

“Per?” Lafontaine says, and their voice is small and scared. “What are you-”

“This is just touching. I admit it was difficult, at first. Seeing what sort of relationship the two of you had. These two I could fool easily, but you...No, you were exceedingly difficult. All those years of friendship don’t just vanish. So...I let little Easy-Baker stay awhile. Watched her. Learned how she talked. I stumbled quite a few times, you know...It’s awfully disappointing you never picked up on it, poppet.”

“We don’t have time for the theatrics. " you hiss. "Lafontaine, come on..”

Lafontaine looks at you, and the expression of sheer and utter hopelessness hits you harder than expected.

“She’s lying...right?” they whisper.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” Your mother tilts her head. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

“For _God’s_ sake!” You pry your hand out of Laura’s grip, give Lafontaine a good shove sideways. With your considerable strength, they go stumbling quite a few feet before catching your eyes just once and sprinting off.

Leaving you, Laura, and your greatest fear behind.

“And you, sweetie...That was woeful. You couldn’t catch on either? I like to think I took your education quite seriously, in terms of observance.”

As soon as she looks at you, Laura gives a broken little sob of horror.

“Your methods were...Thorough.” You reply, attempting not to dwell on the centuries that disapproving stirred, the dinner parties, the scars that still remained on the back of your hand.

You’d been left handed, before you were turned.

Maman didn’t like that.

“And this little gnat is still alive?” Perry’s body now turns to Laura, quirks a brow at the silent tears running down her face. “I only wish I could say I was surprised...She just keeps crawling back, doesn’t she? Reminds me vaguely of the Plague…”

Laura, suddenly, jerks her hands upward, reaches toward Perry, and curls her fingers into claws.

Your mother’s eyes widen and she makes a terrible choking noise, a shaking hand raising to her throat, which is contracting under some invisible force.

Laura, furious even through her tears, still drops her hands, screams, “CARM, GO!!”

Like she actually expected you to leave without her.

You reach down, scoop her onto your back, and race through the door like hell is on your heels.

Which, honestly, it very much is.

You stumble into Lafontaine on the school grounds and after a gasped order to follow close, you shift Laura a little higher onto your back. Her arms are so tight around your neck that breathing is a little bit difficult, so you elect to ignore that instinctive process and just focus one putting a good ten thousand feet between yourself and your Mother. The way to the library is not one you remember very clearly, being in an addled state of bloodlust, but soon enough it finds you.

Laura shifts on your back, raises her head cautiously as you slow into a walk. The corridor the three of you have entered is dark, lit only by the occasional glow of outdated lightbulbs, and the air is musty and terribly old seeming.

You feel right at home.

Laura takes the opportunity to speak, very quiet. “Who are these people?”

“People?” you turn your head towards her as best you can, cheek brushing against her incidentally. “There’s nobody here but us, short-stack.”

“No...No, there’s…” She trails off, still looking around-or, well, turning her head-and you focus back on watching where you’re going. “I can hear them..”

“Empty.” you say reassuringly, but the back of your neck prickles nonetheless at her observation.

After a short, undetailed explanation to Lafontaine that Laura chooses not to be a part of, you leave the ginger to their moping and look around the seemingly endless shelves. You can still feel yourself trembling after the encounter, and you figure some good old Faulkner would be just what you needed right now. After equipping yourself with a few copies of “Absolumn” and Oscar Wilde’s poetry, you return back to the other two.

It’s a dismal sight. Lafontaine seems to have wandered off in order to be alone, which you can’t blame them for, and Laura is shivering violently where she sits against a nearby shelf. You suspect she’s turned you soft hearted, because rather than content yourself nearby with your books, you retrieve a moth-eaten blanket from the floor and drape it clumsily over her shoulders like some sort of cloak. 

The silence afterwards seems as impenetrable as the darkness beyond the light bulbs. There’s nothing aside from the turning of your pages and Laura’s occasional shift of movement or sniffle.

Or muttering.

She does that, sometimes.

Eventually you get a little too distracted by her unhappiness and set your Wilde side, moving and taking a seat on the floor next to her.

“Holding up alright, sweetness?” you ask, and if anybody else heard you talking in such a gentle tone of voice, you’d probably punch them.

She doesn’t respond, anyway.

So, you try again. “Hungry? I can still see pretty well in this light...Or, well, lack thereof. I could go scavenging, perhaps?”

She shakes her head no.

This is harder than you thought it would be.

“I think I found some recording equipment. I know documenting things helps you sort through them. If you wanted, we could-”

“No.” her voice is suddenly very strong. “No. I don’t want to just...Just set up a camera and start talking to millions of strangers about...No.”

You swallow hard. “You could talk to me.”

She is silent for a few more moments, but you see her expression change. It’s subtle, but it gives you a flash of hope.

“...I saw her, Carm.” she whispers in a voice that sounds as if it’s been through as many wars as you have.

You offer a grim smile. “Not exactly pleasant, is she?”

“No...No, I _saw_ her. _Everything_ about her.” she swallows hard. “That...That fury, and that coldness and...Just...It was like seeing the burning bush, only that light was supposed to be soft and this was cold and harsh. She was...So _old_ , Carm, and so powerful and everything was always in her control and…God, the only reason I could even touch her was because the body she was in was human..”

“Stop.” your voice is surprisingly sharp, and she shuts right up. It’s disturbing beyond words, watching Laura talk about your mother. Knowing she now knew your Mother even better than you did, had seen the entirety of what she was.

You’re sure she can sense the whirlwind in your head, the thoughts and the memories and the physical sickness from them, because she leans against you, just barely.

“I’m sorry.” she whispers.

“...It isn’t your fault.” you force yourself to breathe out, to relax. 

“I just….Carm, the way she looked at you..”

You stiffen again. “I know.”

She can tell you’re upset, doesn’t push it. She reaches up, places a hand on your arm and when you don’t shake her off she runs a thumb up and down.

“I never want anybody to look at you like that again.” she says, and there’s fire in her voice that you can nearly taste.

And for a few minutes, you let yourself believe that Laura is able to make the monsters go away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping is difficult when you're a vessel for a God-creature.

It doesn’t take you long to notice that Laura hasn’t been sleeping.

In the darkness of the Library, it’s impossible to tell when the sun had risen outside and when night came. Even your heightened senses seemed to be of no use to determine which was which. You’d asked Lafontaine for the time once or twice, and they would only have to glance at their digital watch before telling you. After a while, though, the battery wore down and there was no way of telling. You ran on your own schedule, more or less. You went looking for blood when you needed to, and you assume the figures Laura had sensed in this place were pretty hospitable, because there always seemed to be some B positive or O negative when you were feeling peckish. Laura had asked you near the start of the semester if the types mattered, and you’d replied since none of your organs were technically alive and needing to function, there was no real difference which. You slept when you got tired, stretching out near a shelf or two out of the way.

Laura didn’t sleep.

You only really noticed it because you never heard it. Her heart rate, though it had increased slightly ever since she’d drank the blood, always dropped to a slow and regular rate when she slept. Not to mention her breathing, which you could hear as well, or her dreams, which you sometimes shared if you were close enough to her.

Instead, Laura keeps herself busy. She paces up and down near the countless books, running a finger along a spine of one, taking down another and aimlessly leafing through it, as if searching for clues. She hums idly to herself now and again, either a nonsensical sort of sing-song or something from the Top Twenty that used to drive you nuts when she blasted it while taking a shower.

And she talks to the walls.

Sometimes, you think they’re talking back.

You figure it must have something to do with her attuned senses. You remember when you were first turned, you nearly went out of your head the first time you were in a crowded area. The keen sight, the heightened sense of smell, it made things overwhelming and sluggish, to the point where a muscle ticked in your jaw and Mattie had to steer you around by your shoulders.

While your senses were purely physical, though, hers are ethereal. You had overheard Lafontaine asking her, and Laura had shakily recited the temperature down to the third decimal in Fahrenheit, Celsius and Kelvins, the physical organic structure of the bookshelf nearby, and the average air pressure.

You don’t think you’d ever seen Lafontaine look so excited.

Laura, meanwhile, is miserable. And you don’t have to be able to sense her average temperature to know that.

By the fourth night, you decide you’ve had more than enough of this. You rise from where you’d been sprawled out on the floor and approach Laura, who is absently scanning through a Latin-English dictionary. She looks up when she senses you coming, smiles a quick tight-lipped smile. You try hard not to think too much about the shadows under her eyes.

You get straight to the point. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Her fingers stutter over a page. “Um...Last night.”

You breathe a sigh of impatience. “Okay, between the two of us, I don’t need any spidey-senses to know you’re lying to me. Fess up, cupcake.”

Laura, who is even paler-looking now that you’re next to her, bites her lip. “...I haven’t.” she admits at length.

“Haven’t what? Lied? Because-”

“Slept.” she clarifies quietly. “I haven’t slept.”

You stop at that, observing her carefully. Her sightless eyes are staring outward into the darkness and she taps restlessly on the pages of the book in front of her, as if attempting to keep herself alert. Her lower lip is trembling slightly. Even the way she speaks sounds fragile, like she had to think carefully about each syllable, because if she used one to sharp she might break.

You’ve never seen anyone more exhausted in a long while.

“Your hearing?” you ask, tilting your head a fraction to the side. “Too much to focus on?”

She sighs. “You have no idea, Carm.”

You make yourself comfortable next to her, drawing your knees up to your chest, and try to think back. When you’d first turned, it was quite different. You had no control over yourself at all, being in a deep coma the first few weeks and waking only to greedily guzzle down whatever blood Mother would give you, and then passing out again. When you’d finally remained conscious, it was different. New, like being reborn. There was so much you were able to do, and explore, and touch. Micalla-for that had been your name, in those days-had embraced her new life with unfettled vigour, eager to experience and savor. Yet, sometimes, the transition hit. When she’d seen her own mother again, old and sick, the taste of immortality stung like sour fruit.

“What did you do?” Laura asks suddenly, jolting you out of your reverie. “When it...Got like this?”

You smile despite yourself. “Mattie and I played a game.”

Laura’s brow furrows somewhat. “A game?”

“Mmhmm.” You reply, reaching out to brush a lock of her tangled hair behind her ear. “She would pick a sound from around us and I would have to guess which one she was focusing on. It gave me an opportunity to slow down, and focus on one thing at a time. It could be anything, a water faucet dripping, wind chimes outside...And over time, I got so good at it, that we didn’t need to play it anymore.”

Laura sighs wearily, shifts to lean further against the wall. “It isn’t just sounds, though, it’s...It’s everything...I can tell you’re looking at me and you’re remembering Mattie and you’re trying really, really hard not to hate me for what happened to her even though you think you should. And down the hall I can hear Lafontaine, turning the pages of their journal with their..Uh...It’s the forefinger...And they’re thinking about Perry, and researching, because they’re not going to let their friend be taken away, and they hate that they left JP behind because they love him, too, and it’s just…” Her voice wavers, threatening tears, and she swallows.

“What am I going to do? Carm, what do I tell my Dad?”

Her voice is breaking, and in a fashion, you are as well.

“I’m blind, now, and I’ve seen...God, everything, and how am I supposed to be happy and pretend like everything’s alright with him there? Carm, he doesn’t understand this stuff, he shouldn’t _have_ to understand this stuff…”

Wordlessly, you open your arms and she tumbles headfirst onto you, still with that blanket gathered over her shoulders, and she seems too tired to even cry. She reaches out, finds the sleeve of your jacket, and holds it tight while you cradle her close. Neither of you speak for a while, and there is silence aside from the hysterical breaths Laura takes as she tries to keep herself together.

“I _hate_ this, Carm.” she whimpers pathetically. “I hate being this.”

You pull her even closer and her face is hidden in your arms. You aren’t even aware that you’ve been rocking her back and forth out of methodical habit until she shifts slightly in your arms, presses an ear to your sternum. Her eyes are squeezed shut.

You smooth fingers through her hair, kiss the top of her head. You have no idea anymore how to relate to her fears, of staying somewhat human and maintaining a sense of normalcy around her Father. You’d lost your parents long ago, gave up any hope of trying to keep track of your morals after a few centuries, and you cannot say you understand her terror quite the same way.

“Darling one.” You say after a few moments, and it’s been centuries since you’ve spoken to someone like this. “I can’t tell you it’s going to be all right right away. I can’t promise you won’t make mistakes with this newfound sort of power.” You lean your cheek against the top of your head. 

“But whatever this is...It’s a part of you now, Laura. You won’t be able to be rid of it and pretend it never occurred. Nonetheless...You’re brave, and strong, and admittedly annoyingly steadfast. And you’ll be able to help people with this regardless. We’ll take it a step at a time, love. We’ll do it together.”

Her hand clenches impossibly tight in your jacket and for a few moments you just hold her and relish the fact that you were able to get that touchy-feely and have it actually still sound eloquent. Laura must have caught that thought a little, because a little laugh is muffled the crook of your arm.

After a little while, Laura shifts to rest her head in your lap instead, a hand curled near her head as you continue to idly stroke her hair back. You sit with her, deep in thought, and don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until she speaks.

“Keep doing that.” she mumbles.

“What?” you ask. “Breathing?”

She hums in agreement, too sleepy to really form coherent sentences at this point. “It’s nice. Steady.”

As always, you do as she asks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a shorter and sillier one dwelling on the ins and outs of empathetic abilities.

Lafontaine thinks your situation is pretty awesome-at first, anyway.

As soon as you’d started to adjust, started to talk a little more and smile a little bit, they seemed to abound you with questions. You knew full well they were going to have a field day with your heightened senses and abilities sooner or later, and for the time being, you can only attempt to explain it to them. Lafontaine likes asking questions. It’s how they come to understand and process the world around them. Lafontaine uses trial and error, dissection, disassembling problems to find the root causes. Carmilla reads, turns to art for answers to the more abstract questions, ones that were pondered in Ancient greece long before.

You, on the other hand, do what all sensible college students do with their problems.

You try to pretend they don’t exist.

It’s been starting to get a little easier, since your very Laura-esque breakdown in Carmilla’s arms. You learn that you don’t like letting her stray too far from where you can feel her, or hear her. It’s very often that you have nightmares even when you do manage to catch a little bit of sleep, of her looking as still as alabaster on the bloodstained carpet, of Danny staring at you expressionlessly, Mattie screaming in pain. While you’re awake, you have everything else to focus on. While you’re asleep, your mistakes can smell your vulnerability.

Carmilla and you develop a sort of system. Things between you are confusing. You’re far more attuned to almost everything, now. You can hazard guesses at what she’s thinking without even trying too hard, you can tell right away what she feels like and if she’s recalling something. It’s comforting, at first. You’ll sit nearby while she reads, drinking in her presence, connecting with her in a manner you never actually thought possible until omniscence came knocking at your door. And she’s often content while she reads, her finger tracing along the words as her mind, always sharp and alert questions the use of a phrase here or there.

Then, of course, it starts getting uncomfortable.

Because she look at you, sometimes, too.

You can sense she’s unused to seeing you this way, and is having a great deal of trouble remembering just how aware you are. Your blindness has made it difficult for her to remember, simply because it’s so physically present. Truth be told, you’re a little thankful for it. There’s so much information being exposed to you at once, you think if you had to actually see everything, too, you might have lost your mind for good.

You _had_ lost yourself for a while, there. But Carmilla hadn’t let you go. Not once.

That’s another thing the two of you don’t talk about. You know that conversation ought to be had sooner rather than later, particularly following the tapes Carmilla and you had discovered-she had described the important visual elements, you could hear the dialogue itself.

Because you’re not together. Not now. Not yet, maybe.

She loves you. You know that, because you can feel it now like a tangible thing whenever she thinks you’re asleep and moves to sit beside you, feathers fingers through your hair and your name ripples like a mantra in her head. You love her, too, and though you can’t make it quite as obvious for her as it is for you, you think part of her knows. 

But the fact remains that neither of you are ready. Too much has happened, far too much, for the two of you to accept it right away. She had been dead, and part of you had been as well, and you’d both almost lost each other a good number of times that night, and you’ve learned that extraneous circumstances do not qualify as a means of making everything better.

You understand what you’ve done to her, and she understands that you’ve hurt her and she’s scared you, and right now everything’s still sort of messy and it’s going to take a while for it to not be messy anymore.

It’s situations like this, though, that make it easier to be alright. Make it easier to cope. You are lying on your back with the top of your head faintly brushing against Lafontaine’s knees. They tend to get excitable when they talk, and you’re perfectly content to let their voice and presence and curiosity wash over you. They haven’t been the same either, after the truth about Perry. You’d tried to tell them that the possession might not be permanent, that there could be a way to reverse it, and they had nodded and humored you, but you could sense that their hope was vanishing quite steadily.

Nearby, Carmilla is pouring over a copy of the Iliad. She didn’t want to be dragged into another interrogation session.

But you can tell she’s half listening to the two of you.

“And...Okay, let’s see. Atoms. Tell me about those.” Lafontaine demands.

“Those are...Hm…”You hum, thinking. Sometimes, if you’re very bored and Carmilla is in a no-talking sort of mood, you busy yourself by focusing on small things. Air molecules in the like. Atoms were small, but there were ever so many of them. You’d discovered that, if you tried very hard, you could make them start shaking.

And then Carmilla’s book had burst into flames as a result, and she’d given you the silent treatment for the next three hours.

“I can tell they’re there if I think hard enough about them.” You reply thoughtfully. “I can tell you that there’s...Uh...Seven followed by twenty seven zeros in your body, Laf, but that’s not a steady number because your hair calls out sometimes and then new ones have to grow back.”

Lafontaine looks beside themselves with excitement, scribbling the figure into their notebook.

“What about brains? Can you read minds?” They ask hurriedly.

“Not exactly…” You sigh a little, frowning. Putting these things into words, trying to explain them...It’s helping you, a little, to break everything down. You think Lafontaine knows that. “Thoughts are crazy. There’s so many of them...Because you don’t just think about one thing at a time. But,” you say, and your voice lilts playfully, “I can tell that Carmilla is thinking that you’re a nerd.”

A pair of dark eyes flashes over at you from above the book cover, and Lafontaine chuckles. “Way off, cupcake.” she responds. “Besides, you don’t need godly awareness to know that.”

“I won’t let name-calling disrupt the pursuit of knowledge, Karnstien.” Lafontaine says indignantly. But you’re yawning a little bit, and Carmilla notices.

“I think the grilling session is concluded either way, Shelly.” Carmilla says, closing her book and standing up. “I’m going to go off and look for a bit more sustenance.”

You get to your feet, briefly stretching your arms over your head. “Can I come too, Carm? I’ve been thinking about those cookies you found all day.”

You catch a flicker that she was hoping for some time by herself and you almost say never mind, but then you sense her curse herself because she just remembered you might be able to hear that, and then muses something about not getting used to this anytime soon.

It’s kind of a mess.

But, all the same, you walk along behind her a few feet away. The silence isn’t very comfortable, mostly because it isn’t exactly silence for you. Carmilla is thinking and musing to herself, about how to get out of the library, how she was supposed to talk to you now, a distant wish for her older sister here because Mattie always seemed to know what to do.

You hear her footsteps slow a little. “Sorry.”

You’re confused until you remember that she must have remembered you could read her.

“No, no. You’re fine.” you say quickly, and you’re already a little frustrated at this whole situation. “It’s my fault, really. I don’t mean to snoop like that.”

“I know you don’t.” she says simply, and that seems to be the end of that.

A little while passes and you smell a very familiar combination of sugar that makes your mouth water. You can tell the cookies are somewhere above you, and sensing your slight confusion, Carmilla steps beside you and guides you by the wrist upwards until your fingers brush something wooden.

A shelf. The cookies were up on a shelf.

“You’re going to have to reach a little.” Carmilla warns, and you nod once to show you get it. It takes a few tries, but you manage to get the package of cookies before a thought echoes behind you and you freeze.

Apparently, when you were reaching, your shirt slipped up a little to expose the skin on your lower back and Carmilla is remembering trailing her fingers along it, biting her nails into the skin there, trailing her lips along your neck.

Your face is way too warm, and Carmilla is still lost in thought, and seems to have forgotten that you can kind of hear everything, so you clear your throat a little.

“Ah, fuck.” she curses, sounding very much embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Laura. I didn’t mean for that to...Yeah.”

“...No problem!” You reply and your voice is way too high and falsely chipper because you’re very much nervous, and you can tell she notices and is coming up with quite the elaborate string of swear words in her head.

You try really hard not to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's hoping you all enjoyed my little stab at Laura being a prophet for the ancient and terrible! This idea really interested me, and I think I might write a few more oneshots about it later on. If you have any suggestions or prompts regarding it, feel free to send them to my tumblr-'justsummonerthings' is the url-or mention them in the comments!! Thanks very much for reading.


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